The Lioness of Drachma
by Comfysockz
Summary: Five years after Lieutenant Hawkeye's death in the sewers of Amestris, Roy Mustang, now Brigadier-General, is stationed in the deserts of Ishval. As his work to restore the country and the Ishvalan people continues, nothing can free him from the memory of Riza. However, a strange woman from the neighboring country of Drachma might just be able to change that. OCxRoy


Despite having all of the windows down on the train, the cars remained sweltering in the harsh heat of Ishval. The railroad connecting the Ishvalan farming district of Gunja to the trading routes with Xing and Amestris had just been completed under the direction of Brigadier-General Mustang. Two weeks after the last rail tie was hammered into place, the first train from Amestris left the station with Major Armstrong and the rest of the Reintegration Party in tow, Fuhrer Grumman included. The military train, although containing so many government elites, was ill prepared for the day trip to the Southeastern-most region that the old empire once stretched. The spoiled wives of the generals and wealthy statesmen did nothing but fan and fritter, constantly complaining to their spouses about the heat and asking over and over, "Isn't there something you can do about it?"

The women would pout; their fur-lined overcoats once perfect for a chilly April morning in Central had suddenly turned them all into a puddle of perfume and pearls in the 90 degree Ishvalan spring. Some of the younger ladies would return to their sleeping car to put on a lighter sundress that they had planned to wear later in their trip, but the older women were stubborn enough to remain in their heavy mink wraps until they had reached the welcoming platform and journalist's cameras at the Gunja station. Either way, Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong was growing tired of their frivolity.

"Aren't you glad that you don't have some sweaty mother hen over here to keep you company, brother?" asked Olivier a bit too loudly. An old woman wearing an obnoxiously large purple hat glanced at the blonde harpy, but was probably too afraid to give the ice queen more than a look.

Alex turned from the window to look at his older sister, deciding not to hold his tongue this time. "Dear Olivier, _why_ must you openly criticize _everyone_?" With the Major's industrious build and olympian physique, the chairs in the dining car were obviously not crafted with the Armstrong family in mind. He shifted awkwardly in his seat to get a better view of her. "The ladies are uncomfortable. It's understandable. Why, even I'm a bit flushed at the heat."

A lightning strike powered through her fierce blue eyes. "It's understandable because they are weak. The same goes for you, brother." Grabbing the hilt of her sword, Olivier crossed her legs and lifted her pointed nose high into the air. "The only thing these women have ever done is spend their handpicked war hero's money and have a few children to help climb this _stepstool_ of a social ladder. Ridiculous."

Alex sighed. "You may be right, sister, but look at their situation. Not everyone is capable of the bear-like femininity that you so passionately display in yourself."

General Armstrong crossed her arms at this, but didn't interrupt him.

"And what do you know about having children? I have been told by several doctors that men can never know just how entirely painful childbirth really is!" Alex seemed in awe at the responsibility of rearing a child, and a sparkle came to his eye. "Just think of mother! What she has done for us!" He raised a fist in quiet reflection in admiration. A single tear came before he flicked it off of his cheek.

The dining car was starting to fill now for an early dinner before arriving in Gunja, where a charity gala would be held for the building of a small hospital in the town. People began filing into the little booths and tables along the length of the car, sitting mostly in fours or fives depending on how thick the company was. For example, an opera diva the Reintegration Party had invited to sing at the gala tried to squeeze into one of the booths, but the table in the middle was bolted to the train for stability, making it impossible to adjust for her strange shape. It looked as if her girdle had forced all of the fat from her stomach up into her breasts, giving the already dramatic diva an intense upside down pear shape. Furious that the booths were too small for her, the diva shot up in a rage, approached the passing conductor, and began yipping at him like a little dog. The woman and her three traveling companions were moved to a table in the middle of the car, and upon simmering down she chugged a glass of lukewarm water to try and cool herself down.

Out of the corner of the room came Alphonse Elric, who was finally able to slide by the opera house crew and their commotion. Returning from the Fuhrer's car and a nice chat with him about his dealings in the east, Al pushed his coat into the chair beside him and plopped down into his seat amongst the Armstrong siblings.

"Well, I'm back!" he announced. "What did I miss? Anything good?" He had a big smile on his young face as he grabbed the small menu card lying on the table in front of him. Because there would only be two meals served on the train, the menu only consisted of two choices; a nice steak, or chicken and rice pilaf. Al looked it over for a few seconds, then took off his vest, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the top button on his pressed white shirt, obviously too warm to be thinking about food. "When'd it get so hot? The Fuhrer's private car has that new air conditioner in it. You can't even tell we're in Ishval!" Al was obviously impressed with the new Fuhrer, and was excited to be spending more time with him. When he received the invitation from Central to join the Reintegration Party, Al was hesitant to leave his newfound home and fiance in the East, but when they told him that they would fund his research and travels abroad, he was more than happy to oblige them.

Olivier rolled her eyes. "Of course that old bastard would have something like that. It's hotter than the fifth level of Hell in here."

Ignoring his sister, Major Armstrong eyed Al, and cocked a curious finger under his manly cleft chin as he focused on his youth and excitement for life. "Even though it's been over five years since you boys got your bodies back, I still can't get used to you, Alphonse. You've turned into quite the accomplished young man- all of your own determination and skill! If you had remained in your suit of armor, you would have been like that woman over there, unable to fit into your seat and eat with us." Olivier glanced at Al, smiling briefly.

Al grinned at his big friend, "You'll get used to me someday, Major, I'm sure. Besides, I plan on staying in this body for as long as I can."

The last four members of the Reintegration Party, four businessmen, wandered into the dining car. Looking around, the men began to realize that all of the tables were occupied, and that if they were to eat anything it would be separately at open seats amongst the diners. Since Olivier was bored with the conventional topic of Al, she decided to watch as the group struggled to find a seat. One of the men, a bald man with a brown tweed suit, finally flagged down the conductor from another table to see if anything could be arranged. The conductor's eyes quickly jutted around the room, focusing on a woman who was sitting alone in a booth with room for four. "Let's go talk to her, and see if we can't keep you men together." he said.

The businessmen and the conductor weaved through the tables to get to the other side of the car, with Olivier watching the men follow behind him like ducklings. The woman at the booth was so focused on the desert view outside the window that she had no idea of their approach until they were right beside her. However, she was too far away for the Major General to get a good look at her features.

"Excuse me, madam, but these men were hoping to dine together, and due to the fact that the train is currently at maximum capacity there is no other way for them to do so unless you were so charitable enough as to give up your booth here." The conductor pointed to the table, _as if she wouldn't know which one they were talking about_ thought Olivier. The woman looked at the men and blushed. When the group made eye contact with her, they all suddenly stopped talking and focused on her with the strangest looks on their faces.

"Oh! Yes of course! How selfish of me," she replied, picking up the few belongings she had brought with her from her quarters. "Move me wherever you need me, sir. I don't take up much room."

Before she could stand up or move out of the way, one of the businessmen held out a hand to stop her, and to reassure her that she would be more than welcome to dine with them. With no rebuttal on the subject from the three other men, it seemed to The Peeking Northern Wall like they were almost desperate to have her sit with them. However much they may have wanted her to, the young woman insisted that they have their time to talk amongst themselves, and that she could have no business snooping into their conversation.

As the men defeatedly piled into their seats and began lazily looking over the few choices on the menu, they watched the woman and the conductor begin searching for the last seat. Quickly finding it amongst Alphonse Elric and the Armstrongs, the conductor told her to wait there until he could be sure that they were alright with the extra company. The woman nodded, and smiled coyly, brave enough to maintain eye contact with the Ice Queen from a distance.

Now that she had a better look at her face, Olivier couldn't help but think that she had seen her somewhere before. Her features reminded her of a Drachman, but her hair was too light and her eyes too blue. The girl truly was a mishmash, but the Northern Wall of Briggs had looked into the bloody faces of Drachmans too many times not to see it in this woman. There wasn't any way around it; she just didn't like her.

"Excuse me, but do you mind if this young woman sits with you?" Alex, Olivier, and Al pause their light hearted conversation and look over at the lady, who smiled back at them sweetly. While Alex and Alphonse were more than happy to oblige her, Olivier was unconvinced. Glaring at the conductor, Olivier quite loudly asked the man, "Isn't there another open seat somewhere?"

The lady's radiant features slumped into a frown, and the conductor immediately flipped around to assure her that it would be alright. "No ma'am, there isn't. The train is at maximum capacity, and as you can see this is the only seat open in the whole car." said the conductor meekly. "Surely she would not bother you all too badly, hm?" Running out of time from all the dilly dallying with guests, the conductor up and ran, leaving the girl to fend for herself.

Alex spoke up. "Of course she may sit with us!" The huge man stood up and introduced himself, ignoring his smoldering sister and walking straight up to her. "I am Major Alex Louis Armstrong, and this is my darling sister Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong. It is a pleasure to meet a _magnificent_ woman such as yourself." His huge hands tripled hers in size, and an over enthusiastic handshake left her popping her knuckles back into place. Nevertheless, the young woman beamed at him a beautiful smile, leaving him in awe of her. Alex blushed and returned to his seat, unaware of his sister's reasonable paranoia. Floating on a cloud, Alex sat back in his chair and sighed.

Al stood up and moved the available seat out from under the table for her, taking his coat out of it and putting it on the back of his own. "My name is Alphonse Elric, and I travel for alchemic research in the East- but the Amestrian military is like a second family to me." he motioned to the two giant blonde people sitting in front of him, but only Alex smiled. "Please, eat with us."

The woman took two long, flowing strides to her new seat and propped her small clutch on the floor beside it, the company finally able to get a good look at her. What had happened with the group of licentious businessmen was happening to the much more well meaning and honorable Alphonse Elric and Alex Louis Armstrong. The cheerful looks on their faces slowly turned into that of bewilderment and amazement at the fantastical sight before them, their eyes wide and their mouths hardly closed. The more the two men looked at her, the less their vision strayed from her, and it was easy to see why.

Her chocolate colored hair was long, visibly soft, and thick with big silky smooth curls that framed her heart-shaped face. Her skin seemed flawless, and a radiant white glow came from her porcelain face, neck, chest, and arms. She was one of those people that you can only find once or twice in a lifetime, and her rarity only made her more appealing to those around her. Even Olivier seemed astonished or at least intrigued at this exotic beauty, or so thought the male company. The young woman corrected herself in her seat and smiled at her newfound fellowship.

Her bow shaped mouth parted, and a sound as smooth as silk came from it. "I am Omphale. Thank you very much for letting me sit with you." Her voice was intoxicating and refreshing; it was covering up just the smallest hint of an accent no one at the table had heard before.

Major Armstrong contemplated her name over and over again in his mind. _Omphale._ It didn't sound Amestrian, or even Ishvalan, although he doubted that an Amestrian family would even know any Ishvalan names in the first place. He thought for a second about his books on Creta, but even then Cretan names sound incredibly far off.

Now that the mystery woman was facing him, the Major was amazed at how gorgeous this person was. Her almond shaped eyes were dark, her lashes thick and her eyebrows thicker lick painted black lines. But coming from that smoky darkness are bright sapphires, so shining that they were the color of an icy blue sky on a cloudless day. A deep navy rim encircled the pools of blue water that were her eyes, giving them an almost alien appearance. The Major felt that they were so beautiful that it was a gift just to be looked at by her, and she seemed too impossible to be real.

"Your name is well suited to you, madam, truly beautiful." declared Alex, his shirt dangerously close from coming off in this bit of fascinating activity.

Omphale laughed and grinned at his old school chivalry, but she played along. "Thank you, Major. I am happy to hear you think so."

"Tell me." he said. "Were your parents referencing the lover of Carpathian in the ancient Xerxian myths? Or is it a family name?" A twinkle shown in his eye, as he finally got to put all those old grade school stories to use.

The dark woman Omphale winked at the friendly giant. "Close, but no cigar." she smiled coyly, shifting a finger over an imaginary pen and pencil. "That Umfallei is spelled completely different. My name _is_ a family name though... in a way." she added in a whisper. Her hauntingly blue eyes returned to the baby faced Major, and he giggled in his usually giddy way. His sister, who had remained silent all this time, looked like she was about to hurl.

Alphonse, sitting beside her, was already infatuated with Omphale, and after hearing her name he never let it out of his mind. From his seat beside her, Al could see by how her starlight silver dress draped over her body that Omphale's legs were long and thin, her waist was small, and that her frame was willowy- fragile, even. Her neck was long and swan like, and Al could only imagine how soft and smooth her lily-white skin must be. She was like a flower too gentle to be cut. Just looking at her made him sweat, and after a while he started to realize that literally every other man in the room was doing the same thing.

With this brief return to reality, Alphonse remembered his little Xingese fiance waiting for him back East, and was instantly ashamed of himself. May Chang was patiently waiting for his return to Shin, and yet here he was drooling over another woman. _Come on Al_ , he thought to himself. _May would kill you!_

"May I ask who you are traveling with? Surely you are accompanied by someone?" asked Major Armstrong compassionately. Alphonse shot up at the mention of the word _May_ , but quickly rolled his eyes at himself for even thinking so hard about it.

Gracefully, Omphale's thin hands brushed a curl behind her ears, which were pierced with a pair of delicately dangling teardrop pearls. "Actually I think I'm the only person on this train who didn't come with somebody." she paused, taking time to smile. "Not only am I interested in these types of political things anyway, but I was also invited by a friend who is working with Brigadier-General Mustang on the Rebuilding Project. Maybe you know him; Captain Jean Havoc?"

Major Armstrong and Al immediately beamed in response to hearing his name. "Of course we know Jean!" blurted the Major jovially. "We served under Mustang together, the old sport! Might have gotten into a bit of trouble, but always a good one to have around. What a good boy, moving up two whole ranks in only five years!"

"Jean has always been nice to my brother and I," added Al. "I'm so glad to hear that he's been promoted! And it sounds like Dr. Marcoh really helped him out quite a bit!"

Omphale's gemstone eyes lit up, and a look of pure happiness quickly spread across her face. "Yes, truly!" she agreed, laughing a bit. "I remember him telling me about the incident with the Homunculus. Is it true that he was unable to walk for nearly a year afterward?"

"Yes," answered the Major. "It was very hard for him when it first happened, but after a few months of feeling sorry for himself he decided that he would try and help us win the war against that devil Bradley. A tremendous help, really. He ran an illegal weapons ring out of an old ice-cream truck, just for Mustang!" The giant let out a jolly laugh while reminiscing over the rebellion in Central, and propped a burly fist under his great chin in sparkly contemplation.

Alphonse raised a quick eyebrow. "When did Jean tell you all this? You're a woman of society." he exclaimed questioningly. "No offense to Captain Havoc, but where did he ever get the chance to meet someone like you?" Al straightened up in his chair, ready to listen, but Olivier looked like she had zoned out of the conversation hours ago.

Omphale tilted her head and smiled sweetly at Alphonse for his half-compliment. "Thank you for thinking so highly of me, but we actually met at some hole-in-the-wall bar back in Central. I suppose the _real_ question is, how did _I_ ever meet someone like _him_." she gave a cheeky grin. "Really it was me who was out of my element, but I was in desperate need of a good Stout and Cider."

The Major looked the lady over one more time, curious as to why someone so majesterial would be hanging around a womanizer like Havoc. He couldn't help but pry. "What were you doing in one of Havoc's musty cellars, my dear? I know he likes extra crust when drinking, so I'm sure it wasn't exactly a pillar of downtown society."

She laughed. "I couldn't have described the place any better myself, Major." Alphonse and the giant were glowing at the sound of hearing her enjoy herself so, and were in raptures at every bit of melodic laughter that left her body. Omphale returned with, "I hate to say this, but I'm not exactly a home body, and choose to travel as frequently as possible. In my case, home is definitely _not_ where the heart is."

The men paused in wonderment of her, but were too fascinated yet to interrupt her pitiful story with a question. She frowned at herself, and looked at them both, but seeing as they were like little children listening to her tell the story, she knew she must continue.

"Music is also a major part of my life. Ever since I was a child I have spent countless hours singing, playing, and listening to music. It is something that affects the emotions and the mind like nothing else in this world. I thank my ancestors for my love of music, but I thank my mother for the ability to play piano and harpsichord." she smiled, fond memories obviously bubbling up. "So in other words, I was a traveling piano player when I met Havoc. It's not that I needed the money, but it always gave me an excuse to keep traveling- to keep out of the house, I suppose."

Olivier looked like she was about to throw something, but she continued to let the two schoolboys fawn over her out of curiosity.

"You know how to play piano?" asked Alphonse sweetly. "You must be a very accomplished woman."

"And you are to play for us at the gala, yes?" inquired Armstrong, his shirt losing a few buttons.

Omphale nodded eagerly. "Yes, I will. Havoc insisted on it."

By this point Olivier was practically boiling over trying to figure out how she knew this girl. Out of nowhere she nearly shouted, "Enough with the small talk. I need you to cut the crap if you're wanting to sit with me." Both of her gloved white fists shook on the table top, and both Al and Alex were wide-eyed. Omphale however, didn't seem startled in the least.

"What is the matter, ma'am?" Asked Omphale almost daringly, her cat-like lips twisting up into a grin. "If you wish for me to be quiet then please just say so. I'm sorry to have offended you with whatever it is that I might have said."

Alex Armstrong was about to interrupt when suddenly his sister's fist made contact with his face. "It was not your words, girl, that offended me." screamed Olivier suddenly. At the speed of light it seemed, her black patent leather military boot stomped definitely to the top of the table as a dramatic silver blade slashed through the air in the same attitude towards Omphale's neck. Stopping her sword before it hit her flesh, Olivier screamed again. "What offends me is the blood of my fallen men at Briggs. By your hands, mind you! _You_ are a Drachman spy, aren't you!"

Everyone in the dining car had slammed to a halt at the sight of the sword. After the cries of the women and the questioning glances from the men had quieted, a tense silence formed at the Armstrong table.

"Olivier! How dare you!" shouted Alex from beside her. "There you go criticizing and scrutinizing everything that you see again! I say, sit down!"

"Please Major General, sit down!" added Alphonse, eyes pleading.

Omphale was unmoved by the event. In fact, she didn't even seem to be nervous. Instead of sweating, Omphale had latched her gemstone glare onto the Ice Queen's gaze, and rather than crumble under the pressure she calmly and coolly collected herself as if she had done this before. Arms crossed, Omphale finally replied, "So you've figured it out, huh?"

"The Lioness of Drachma. Princess Borislava Theodora Omphale von Ivanov." Announced Olivier dutifully. "As if I wouldn't know who _you_ are, you murdering bitch. You're just like your tyrannical father. All you wanted from the battlefield was the head count."

Omphale put on a crazed look. "I am not here to fight you, Armstrong! I have no more interest in death, and have not killed now for many moons!"

Olivier laughed. "And do you expect time to wash away your sins, Lioness? Because my men do not forgive you, and neither do their families. _That_ I can promise you."

"Why do you think I'm here, Major General?" shouted Omphale, a sad look about her. "You have killed every single one of my brothers. My eldest brother died commanding the army that so foolishly attacked in your absence at Briggs!"

"Then I am happy for the bloodshed, now knowing that another one of your abhorred family members were rubbed out in the snow!" With her sword Olivier lifted Omphale's chin and looked her straight in the eye. "Nothing you can say will change my mind about you, woman. I'd have a mind to kill you right now for what you've done."

Suddenly the beautiful Omphale grabbed the blade with her bare hand, and of her own will stood from her chair, the blood from her palm seeping into the lace trimmings on her dress sleeves and ruining the silver satin sheen of its design. As Alex watched her odd beauty from across the table, he realized why the princess Omphale had earned her name as the Lioness of Drachma. With her massive head of beautiful suntanned brown curls she put on an air of the animal itself, as if she had a volumised mane of some sort framing her head and wild blue eyes. Alex had thought her a bit catty, but the nickname really did suit her. He smiled.

"I am the last living heir to the Drachman throne," stated Omphale, her grip tightening. "I've decided that if fate has really chosen me to rule after the deaths of my brothers and cousins at the hands of my father's bloodlust, that when he dies and I become queen, that I will not be the tyrannical ruler that he was and that you yourself has labeled so. I've come to Amestris to learn about a proper government- the revolution gave me the idea. My father is so sick that my mother could let me come here without him even knowing. He thinks that I am at the battlefront even now." She looked down in sadness for a brief second, but a kind of admirable determination renewed her, and her monstrous grip on Olivier's sword tightened ever still.

Alphonse Elric stood up now as the rest of the train car watched on in awe. Bravely he tried to take Omphale's hand from the silver blade before she did any more damage. "Please Omphale," he whispered, "You're hurting yourself."

With his sweet suggestion she slowly went limp and dropped her hand down beside her, her eyes doing the same. Even Olivier seemed moved at the idea, and she put her foot down from off of the table. Olivier sat down and glared at her as she used the train's table cloth to wipe off Omphale's blood from her sword.

At the end of the train car the door opened from the kitchen, bringing with it the liquor cart and a single waiter, his thin black bowtie a bit crooked on his neck. As he walked into the room he noticed the silence and quickly stopped, like a deer caught in headlights. No one dared move from the cat fight that had just occurred in the corner of the room.

All of a sudden, Omphale walked over to the waiter and lifted a bottle of rum, quickly ripping off the top with her teeth. Spitting out the cap into waiter's empty cap can, Omphale turned back around to her table and sat down in her wooden chair once again. After taking a huge gulp of the stuff, she propped it in front of the Major General and waltzed out of the room.

Before she left however, she turned to the waiter and asked, "Does this train have an ice chest?"

"Yes ma'am," he replied in a hushed whisper, hesitant to talk to the crazy woman.

"Then do you have ice cream?" she asked sweetly, the whole cabin hanging on her every word.

The waiter eyed her strangely and nodded his head _yes_. "B-but we were saving it for another group."

"How much did they pay for it?" she asked.

"About 24,000 cenz, I believe, ma'am." he replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm going to double the price and buy it from you to give it to _these_ fellow wretches sweltering in the heat. I'll be back with your 50,000 cenz, sir after I attend to this ghastly wound. But for now, please fetch some bowls before even the thought of it melts."

As I flipped around in my desk chair I glanced at the picture frame that was sitting at the far edge of it. I bet that if they were here they would be sweating their guts out, too. It was too hot and the fan was too slow to physically make a difference in my office. You couldn't even hear it picking up wind or even a bit of whining from overuse. You would think that, by this point, it would have started making those sounds. We've been using it everyday since our occupancy began in Ishval; never turning off even for long trips out. For five years I've sat here and watched it turn, and so have my friends behind the glass.

The sand that's brought in on everyone's uniforms and every seldom breath of air through the windows leaves a thin layer of dust on everything in the building; my office, the documents room, the cafeteria, and the bathrooms. No where is safe from the sand and the heat of this country. While some might find it unpleasant, or irritating, I've come to realize that after a while you really do get used to the deserts here. When we were first deployed here for the Ishvalan Civil War, back in '01, I remember hating it only for a fraction of time. For the rest of the occupation I don't think that I ever thought about it again, until I returned here with the Reintegration Party. It's been five years already, and for five years I haven't thought about sand until now.

As I looked at the frame and the pinwheel and the friends, I couldn't help but reach over and dust off the picture. When someone sees a bunch of dust and dirt covering a picture- it doesn't even matter if it's of a person or not- we can't help but clean it off. It's like the people or the things in the picture are there, there with you as you look at them and think about them. It makes you think that if they really were here, they wouldn't be happy with you for treating their image so poorly, even though you know that's total B.S.

Before I put the picture back down I see the dark brown line on my supposedly dark brown desk and realize just how dirty this place really is. My desk and everything around it had become tan from the sand and dust. I guess we'd all been working too hard to see that our furniture was turning different colors.

I folded the picture frame down onto a stack of papers and turned around in my chair to face the rest of the staff. "Havoc," I announced, instantly getting a response.

"Yes, Brigadier-General?" he shouted back, standing up. His cigarette looked like it wasn't long for this world, but who knew when we would be getting more. Havoc really knew how to make them last.

Bored with sitting, I stood up too. Slowly walking around the corner of my desk, I took a gloved finger and began to drag it across its' top. "How long did you say until the rest of the Party and their women arrive?" Picking up my now dirty pointer finger, I stopped in my tracks and began rubbing the grainy texture against my thumb and index.

"Uh," he mumbled, immediately breaking position to check the clock behind him. "I believe the conductor gave us about seven and a half hours, sir. So that gives us until five o'clock to get to the station." He grinned, finally putting out his half-dead Pall Mall.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." I said, quieter this time. The look on Jean's face receded, the realization of my displeasure finally surfacing.

"Is there something wrong, Roy?" he asked, slowly. The rest of the men looked up from their work; typewriters stopped.

"Yes there is, Havoc. Something is very wrong." I ran my whole hand across the desk again and showed them all the dirt. "The Fuhrer of Amestris, as well as some of the most important people within his borders, are making their first visit to Ishval since the uprising. When was the last time we cleaned this mess hall, anyway!?"

I took off my jacket and flung it on the back of my chair. Rolling up my sleeves, I was glad to see the rest of the men doing the same thing. Havoc began gathering up all of his stray ashes into a trash can beside the desk. Rebecca went to the broom closet and began throwing things out; buckets, a broom, some lye and a mop.

"I'll run out and get a few buckets full of water, sir." shouted Rebecca through the sudden racket. "What should we focus on the most? Which rooms will the magistrates see?"

"Focus on my office, the hallways, and the conference room. If we have time we'll hit the cafeteria, too." I began shoving the stacks of paperwork I had laying on top of my desk into its' drawers and cabinets. "This place is a fraction of the size of Central, it shouldn't take us long if all the men help. Second Lieutenant, I want you to call in the Outreach Squads ahead of inspection time to clean out their barracks. Some of the higher-ups might be interested in more than their uniforms."

Rebecca gave me a quick salute and ran for the phone at her desk. After a few minutes of straightening up, a dust cloud had formed inside the office. Men were running around every which way, putting up papers and books, dusting the radios and the chairs, and reaching on top of the bookshelves to begin rearranging binders and folders of information. I flipped around and grabbed a handkerchief out of my jacket pocket, carefully running it over my knick-knacks, name plaque, lamp, pens, and picture frames.

I couldn't help but to look at them for a while after I had properly cleaned it off. It was a photo of everyone back at central, before the revolution. The Elric Brothers were standing at either side of the group, with a still armored Al on the left and Fullmetal on the right, holding up his pocket watch. In between them were Armstrong, Hawkeye and I, with Havoc, Heymans, Vato and Kain taking up the rear on a higher stair. I couldn't remember why this picture was taken, but it was a newspaper clipping that Lieutenant Hawkeye had framed on her desk. Maybe it was taken shortly after Edward passed the State Alchemy Exam? Everyone looked so much younger in this picture, so unaffected. It reminded me of a time when we thought that we knew what we were doing.

 _RiIiIiIiing... RiIiIiIiing..._

The black government phone on my desk began to ring, and quickly I grabbed it, cutting off the annoying sound. The black plastic cord uncurled itself with the distance from the phone to my ear. With the ruckus and worry of cleaning all over the building, I grabbed the prongs of the phone, picked up the whole thing and stepped into the coat closet nearby. Without saying a word I opened and closed the cheap pinewood door, dampening the sound by enough to where I could at least hear myself think.

" _Hello? Hello? Is this Mustang?"_ said a grainy voice on the other end. It was a woman's voice, but it was somewhat distorted sounding. I couldn't recognize her. " _You gave me the right number, didn't you Alex?"_

"Yes, this is Brigadier-General Mustang speaking. May I ask who is calling on my government line, ma'am?" I asked, solidly. The voice on the other end gave me a harumph.

" _Oh well, anyone with a head this big must be Mustang."_ she said cruelly. I immediately knew who it was. " _This is Major General Armstrong, Mustang, and as always it seems you're lacking in respect. When a military mastermind such as myself allows you to speak you are to address me_ as such _. Are we clear, Mustang?"_

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Major General 'Military Mastermind' Armstrong, ma'am. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

" _Mustang, I wouldn't exactly call what I am about to tell you pleasurable, but I would call it a heads-up. We have an uninvited guest here on this train, but I don't think that I would have the heart to stop her. I mean, she has come an awfully long way just to observe."_

"What? What do you mean?" I asked, locking the door. "Did she come with someone and forget her ticket or something?"

Olivier laughed at me on the other side, her sounds cracking and popping through the phone. Now I understood why she was sounding so strangely; she was on the Reintegration Party train headed for Gunja Station.

" _She came by herself... all the way from_ Drachma." she said slowly, pausing for the dramatic effect. " _She says that Captain Havoc invited her to play piano at the gala. He's one of your men, Mustang. Did you know about this?"_

I let out a long, hard sigh at the thought of it. A Drachman spy at the very first political summit in Gunja? And of course Havoc had to be the one stupid enough to let her in. "...Let me guess. She's beautiful isn't she? He usually goes for the boobs, but sometimes he actually looks up at the eyes, too."

Olivier scoffed at me. " _As much as I'd like to say that the man is an idiot, the girl_ is _incredibly beautiful. And no matter how many damn times I ask her if she's a spy, she always says that she wants to 'learn what government is_ really _like'."_

This confused me for a second. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? I know Drachma's a little off, but-"

" _She's the princess. ...Mustang, we have the princess of Drachma on this train."_


End file.
